


The Ghost in You

by orphan_account



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Domesticity, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-03 19:56:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17884181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: An au in which everything was beautiful and nothing hurt. Pure and unadulterated fitzer fluff.





	1. I

It had been a hard few weeks. Previously, liquor had provided Francis with a soothing barrier in between himself and the world, softening the blow of tragedy. It was only when that barrier was removed that he felt the true impact of those feelings, both physically and psychologically, as he had lain in his berth. He didn’t know what he would have done without Jopson’s steady presence, and deep down he felt guilty for all he had put the younger man through. 

It was Fitzjames who had surprised him during those weeks. Rather than maintaining his distance (albeit one Francis himself had created) he had been attentive in his visits, sitting with Francis a while whist the young steward got some rest. Sometimes he would merely sit and read as Francis slept, other times he would talk, updating the Captain on the mundane tickings over of the men. There was one particular meeting which stood out in Crozier’s mind:  

_ Francis awoke to the sound of retreating footsteps and the sliding of the door into his berth. He could tell by the determined strides that it was Fitzjames, who sat down on the chair placed beside the bunk, clearing his throat as he did so. ‘Jopson said you are faring better today’ James mused quietly, seemingly speaking more to himself than to the man supposedly sleeping in front of him ‘To be quite honest with you, Francis, that is more of a relief than you can imagine.’ There was a pause, before Fitzjames started again ‘I feel I owe you an apology. Christ, Francis, I am out of my depth. You said our hubris was going to drive us into disaster and you were right. We were blind by it, nay I was blinded by it, by this opportunity for glory, and now we have little means of escape and our men are going to suffer. For Gods sake, get better. I need your guidance. We all do. I was stupid for not listening in the first place.’ He sat back and ran a hand through his hair, sighing heavily as he did so, and the room was cloaked in a silence that could be cut with a knife. Fitzjames got up quickly ‘I should be going. I will try and return tomorrow’ and with that he was gone as quickly as he’d arrived. _

Not all of Fitzjames’ visits had been as sombre. The next time he visited, Crozier vowed to himself that he’d attempt to alleviate some of the tension that had grown between him and his second.

_ He had woken up to mutterings in the cabin outside his berth. He could make out Jopson’s clipped cockney, and it did not bother him half as much as it should have when it was his steward’s steady steps he heard retreat, and Fitzjames sliding open the door and sitting on the chair to the side of the berth. He was curious as to how this meeting would go in comparison to the sombre mood of their previous, albeit one-sided interaction, so decided to maintain his guise of unconsciousness. Fitzjames cleared his throat, as was habit when he was slightly uncomfortable in a situation, and began to talk. _

_ ‘Good evening. I had expected you to be awake considering Jopson’s report’  _

_ Bugger it all.  _

_ ‘I will be soon if I am to be subjected to your storytelling for the next hour’ Crozier interrupted, having decided to give up the guise of sleep, preferring to use the little energy he had to parry with his second _

_ ‘My god Francis, does your insolence ever cease’ James sounded despairing but still in good nature. Francis opened his eyes slightly to grin slyly at his second ‘only when it concerns you’. James rolled his eyes in what Francis could not tell was legitimate or mock despair and glanced at Crozier, who sniggered.  _

_ ‘I don’t know why I bother with you, honestly’ James muttered, looking at the floor.  _

_ ‘What brings you here, anyway? Surely you have not come all this way in the cold to simply get on my nerves’ Francis teased _

_ ‘Unless you have forgotten, Francis, you are captain of this expedition. I have come to update you on happenings’  _

_ ‘Very well. Go on’. _

_ ‘The men are faring well, although according to doctor Stanley there is an increased despondency amongst them. To remedy that I have organised a carnival, a party of sorts, to cheer them up’  _

_ ‘Any excuse let your hair down, I see’  _

_ James looked affronted at this, so Francis quickly added to his statement: _

_ ‘I jest, James. It will do the men good to have some entertainment, and of all people here I feel like you are the expert in orchestrating such a thing’  _

_ ‘I am going to take that as a compliment’  _

_ They continued like that for a good while, trading good natured digs and laughing, before Francis felt heaviness in his eyelids.  _

_ ‘I have tired you out, I see’ James got up and made for the door.  _

_ ‘I will return tomorrow. Do behave yourself while Im gone’  _

_ ‘Wouldn’t dream of it’  _

_ And with that he was gone.  _

 

Francis reflected on these encounters as he made the walk from the between the two ships. A disaster had happened last night, a tragedy beyond comprehension, the thoughts of which brought fresh waves of nausea to his stomach. Francis felt the smell had etched itself into his skin. He had washed himself red raw with scalding water fresh from the burner and yet he could not remove the scent from his nostrils, embedded as it was now in the wool of his muffler and fabric of his slops. Once he reached Erebus he was greeted with warm welcome by men with tired eyes, who he quickly dismissed; the loss of their friends was still a gaping wound which needed nursing to heal. The door to the great cabin was shut, and there was no light trickling through the vents bar the meagre glow coming from the small burner in the corner of the room. Francis opened the door and could just make out the shape of his second at the table, his head in his hands. 

‘James’

He was hesitant. James blamed himself for this ( _ These men need names yet, his eyes red rimmed and dead) _ and it broke Francis’ heart when his intentions had been so pure.

He raised his head from his hands and before he could school his features Francis saw the tortured look in his face; he looked desperate and a base, childlike fear had replaced the steely confidence which once stood in his eyes. Before he could think properly, Crozier crossed the cabin and pulled Fitzjames into a firm embrace, which softened as he felt the taller man crumble, shaking as he began crying into his shoulder. It was all Francis could do to rub soothing circles into his back, and use his other hand to softly card through the hair at the base of his neck.

‘Hush now, James. Your intentions were good, hold that to your heart.’

‘Men died, Francis. Innocent men’

‘Doctor Stanley was a sad, lonely man; no one could have predicted what he did. The fault is not with you. We have all made mistakes on this voyage, I of all men know that, and now is not the time to reflect on what we have done wrong but instead what we can do right in the future’ 

James uncurled himself and looked down at Francis through his eyelashes 

‘Are you sure about that’

‘Yes, James, I am’

And then James did the unexpected; lifting Crozier’s chin with two fingers and kissing him. For a minute Francis froze. He knew this had been stirring for a while. It had been relatively easy to ignore these thoughts, passing them off as an attempt to get over Sophia, and James’ obnoxious behaviour being enough to put him off ever acting on such things. He felt Fitzjames stutter against his lips and he realised how his hesitation must have come across, so he began to respond, his hand returning to where it had been at the nape of James’ neck and the other resting on his hip. Surprisingly it was James who pulled back, eyes still wet with but smiling this time. Francis reached up to swipe away the tears with the pad of his thumb, his hand cupping James’ angular jaw. 

‘This seemed like the easiest place to start’ He said softly, again looking at Francis through his lashes before turning his head slightly and pressing a kiss to Francis’ palm. 

‘I am not going to complain’ 

The rest of the day went in the way that they had previously, pouring over maps and various lists of figures, although there were some major changes. When before they had been military, sitting with straight backs and stiff gestures, they were now loose limbed, fingers brushing at odd intervals and ankles touching under the table. At one point Le Vesconte came in with a message for James, and laughed when he saw the two in such easy company. 

‘Its good to see you two have finally started to behave. Sobriety has softened you, Francis’ 

‘Cheeky bastard’ Francis muttered under his breath as the other man left, earning a kick from Fitzjames. 

 

It was late by the time Francis made to leave back to Terror. He got up from his chair with a groan, a combination of his age and the constant cold playing havoc on the muscles in his back. 

‘I’m sure we could find space if you wanted to stay here for the night’ James suggested, noting the older man’s tiredness. Francis was aware of the the suggestion implicit in that message- an offer of affections going beyond the chaste exchanges they’d had that evening. It would be so easy to accept those offers, to take solace in a warm body for the first time in years, but the voice of reason in his head wanted to protect the this thing he had Fitzjames, to nurture it and let it grow slowly but strong.

‘My men will notice my absence, but you are welcome to join me tomorrow evening for dinner’

‘I will happily oblige’ 

It was Francis who went to kiss James goodbye, pressing a chaste kiss to the other mans cheek and slipping out of the door.

~~~

The two soon turned this into a habit, their time alternating between the two ships (If you had asked, Fitzjames preferred visiting Terror. He would bring Bridgens with him under the guise of having company on the walk, knowing that the second he arrived he’d dismiss the man for the evening so he could hunt out Mr Peglar who he was so clearly fond of.) He and Francis had become increasingly tactile the more time they spent together, spending great lengths of time lounging on the covered benches at the back of the cabins. They had recently given up with propriety and moved to curling up in their berths, it being warmer in the smaller space and on the whole a lot more comfortable. 

 

This evening they were curled up on Francis’ bunk on Terror in peaceful silence; they could only hear the creak of the boat against the mounting pressure of the pack (a reminder of the state they were in, but one to be wilfully ignored for the time being), and the soft rustle and murmur of the men down the corridor. James’ head was rested against Francis’ chest and the older man was carding his fingers through James’ now permanently dishevelled hair.

‘I heard the conversation you had with Sir John’ James broke the silence with a thoughtful statement. 

‘Which one might that have been? We had many on board that ship, and not all were good, as you very well know’ 

‘He spoke of your relationship with Miss Cracroft..’

‘Why raise this now, James?’ There was a tension in Crozier’s voice  which had not been there before.

‘He said you were hard to love’ 

‘James.’ 

A warning. 

Francis’ eyes had shut and creases had formed on his forehead, yet James persisted with the point he wanted to make.

‘I only say this as it has been bothering me of late’ 

‘Has it now? And why might that be?’ Francis was weary, clearly tired of rehashing such freshly healed wounds. James tangled their fingers together, catching his captain’s attention and causing them to make eye contact.

‘Because I am finding you rather the opposite.’ He smiled softly and raised their joined hands, brushing a kiss to Francis’ knuckles. The tension eased from Crozier’s forehead and he smiled in return, eyes glinting;

‘Who knows, maybe my affections were always destined for my molly of a second’ 

‘oy!’ James swatted in mock offence at Francis’ chest, who lowered his head to place a soft kiss on James’ lips, to which he was willing to oblige. He pulled away ‘I should be going’ James said, although making no attempt to remove himself from the cocoon they had created in the blankets, ‘The men will wonder where I am.’ 

‘Surely no one will miss you for one night’ Crozier protested, although he knew that this was futile- James would have to return to his ship to avoid talk. 

‘Bridgens most certainly would. And I doubt Jopson would be too happy to walk in on this in the morning’ 

‘I think you’d find neither of those men would worry as much as you think’ Francis said, tilting his head to look James in the eye 

‘Well I do not want to put them in that position. It would be awkward for all involved, especially after what you ordered on Hickey.’ He finally extracted himself from both Crozier’s arms and the pile of furs and blankets, and moved to put his jumper back on. 

‘I suppose you’re right’ Crozier admitted reluctantly, swinging his legs around and sitting on the edge of his berth. Fitzjames had his coat on by now, and came to stand in front of his captain, taking hold of his hands, 

‘It may not always be like this. Hold on to that thought to keep you going’ and with that he placed a brief kiss to Crozier’s lips as a parting farewell and left the captain in his bunk, feeling his loneliness all the more keenly now his companion had gone. His parting statement had left him thinking; what would happen to them if they, let alone this thing they had, survived the expedition? He thought of his rooms in Bloomsbury, and about how they would maybe feel like home if he had someone to share them with.  

~~~

Everyone had moved to Erebus. The creaking of Terror under the pressure of the ice had become unbearable, and in the space of two days the men had carted all of the necessary items to the larger and more stable vessel. It would be mere weeks before they walked out for good, but the feeling amongst all the men was to spend as much time as they were able gathering their strength in the relative warmth of their ships before they submitted themselves to the elements for an unknown period of time. The atmosphere was an interesting one, the good spirits tarnished with the still recent loss of so many of their friends and the ever-present fear of what was to come. Fitzjames felt this keenly, but could not deny the comfort that the move had brought, a comfort that came in the form of Francis. 

Officially, Francis had been given Sir John’s old berth, with Fitzjames staying in his cabin down the corridor, however in practise this was not the case. Taking advantage of the pressing circumstances they were in, they both dismissed their stewards early in the evening and made sure only to require their services late in the morning; leaving uninterrupted and able to share the narrow berth off the main cabin. 

‘It is almost like you no longer wish to see me, captain’ 

Fitzjames could hear Jopson’s voice as he wandered down the corridor from the mess 

‘Why Jopson, I thought you would be appreciating the free time, lord knows you will need it for what is coming ahead’ 

‘I am grateful, sir. I know Commander Fitzjames is providing ample company’ 

There was something in his voice that suggested he knew more than he was letting on, and James smirked. It took two to tango- he had noticed the looks exchanged between the young steward and Mr Little over dinner. Their secret was safe with him, Fitzjames knew that. He took this as his sign to stop his eavesdropping and make an entrance, briefly knocking before opening the door.

‘Speak of the devil’ Francis joked, looking up at James from where he was sitting at the table with mirth in his eyes. 

‘I shall leave you two in peace, sirs.’ 

There it was again, that tone that was dangerously cheeky, this time in combination with a knowing look which Fitzjames has been unable to see earlier due to his position behind the door. 

‘Are we really that obvious’ 

Fitzjames sat down unceremoniously in the chair opposite Crozier,  running a hand through his hair that had been thoroughly disordered by the welsh wig which he’d thrown onto the table. 

‘What with you making moony eyes at me over the dinner table I’m not bloody surprised. That and the odd hours we keep- I bet the whole ship knows we’re tupping by now’ 

‘I do not make moony eyes, Francis’ 

They continued this friendly sparring for the rest of the evening, the lighthearted jibes contrasting with the heavy-handed task of planning their route to Back’s Fish River and Fort Resolution. When Francis’ back began to ache from leaning over charts for far longer than he would have liked and he failed to muffle the groan as he sat up straight in his chair, James rounded the table and began to rub slow circles into the older man’s shoulders. 

‘Come on old man, up we get’ he held his hands out for Crozier to take, pulling him up and leading him to the smaller cabin, the other man reluctantly agreeing. Once in the smaller space James slid the door shut and began undressing the man before him, fingers nimbly undoing waistcoat buttons and untying the cravat that hung around his neck. Crozier was exhausted, he could feel it in his bones, so he allowed the other man to care for him, stripping him of his undershirt and helping him into his night clothes. Before he climbed into bed he was pulled forward by James, who placed a soft kiss to his lips before stepping back and sliding open the door 

‘Goodnight, Francis’ 

He ached to take James’ hand and drag him back into his bed, to fall asleep with his body a warm and reassuring presence at his side but before he could act on such urges the door shut and he could feel his body going heavy with sleep.


	2. II

They had been walking for three weeks when Francis had decided that they should stop for a while for the men to regain their strength. There were some who looked ill, desperately so, and when he said to them that they were stopping for them to heal he knew that it was to let them die in peace and avoid the excruciating pain that would bloom in their already aching limbs as they were being dragged across miles and miles of scree. Most were showing signs now, of both scurvy and the poison hiding within their cans. James was one of them, Francis knew.It had been last night, when they had kissed briefly in his tent, that Crozier had tasted the metallic tang of blood on his lover’s tongue.

_‘Oh James.’_  
_Francis had had to pull away, resting his forehead on the other man’s, his voice cracking. For a second Fitzjames was taken aback, stalled by the sudden absence of Francis’ now constant strength and optimism, but then he had tasted it himself- the tang of blood leaking from where a molar was loosening in his gum._  
_‘Why did you not tell me’_  
_The shorter man’s voice was pained and when he finally looked up his eyes were wet._  
_‘I am living on borrowed time, Francis. The time we have I have with you is preciously small._  
_He paused briefly and when he resumed his words were spat._  
_‘I will not have it tainted by this… poison in my veins. I do not think I could stand it’_  
_The confession at the end came out as barely a whisper and it forced Francis to gather the strength that had momentarily left him._  
_‘Tomorrow we will get off this wretched ice and on to King William Island, and we will stop and rest. I will not have you overwork yourself. I need your presence my side, I doubt I could cope without it’_  
_‘You may have to’_  
_This was delivered as a joke but Fitzjames could not stop his voice cracking._  
_‘Shut. Up. I will not have you die. I will not. It is forbidden, Captain’s orders’_  
_‘I do not think even your bloody minded authority could prevent this, Francis’_  
_‘I can bloody well try’_  
_Francis remained in James’ tent until the early hours of the morning. Both were dimly aware of the possible repercussions of such actions if they were caught but neither voiced this, wrapped up as they were in their own mortality._

Regardless of James’ worsening condition he managed to persuade Francis to allow him to accompany him to the cairn at Victory Point where Des Voeux had deposited the note almost a year previously. Jopson had tried to get Francis to take a marine with them, the memory of Tuunbaq still fresh in his memory, and had been met with fierce refusal  
‘We will be fine, Thomas’  
Francis’ tone was light, finding the concern of his steward amusing.  
‘I will have James with me, and we will both be armed. You needn’t worry’  
The two left camp in a brotherly manner but the second they crossed the ridge and were out of sight of camp the distance between them closed so that their shoulders rubbed as they walked. It was Fitzjames who linked their arms, as two sweethearts might when taking a turn of St James’ park. Francis smiled at the sweet gesture and his thoughts carried him into a future, one in which they survived and society was a lot less judgemental, where they could walk as they were now up the hill at Greenwich park or across Hampstead Heath. The London they had left three years ago would look upon such an act with distaste, but then again Francis had never been one for social convention.  
‘Penny for your thoughts, old man’  
James’ lighthearted chatter withdrew him from his revere leaving him mourning for a future which would never happen whilst at the same time drawing his attention to the beloved man beside him ‘This is the closest we’ve been to being alone in three years’ he mused, glancing sidewards at his partner.  
‘My presence must be something of a burden then’  
(Fitzjames’ humour had become increasingly self deprecating and although Crozier much preferred it to the arrogance which proceeded it he felt compelled to counter these comments with something much more positive)  
‘To be alone with you, James, is a beautiful thing which I pray will happen with great frequency once we leave this godforsaken place’  
‘I would like nothing more’  
They continued in this manner for the rest of the walk to the cairn, talking about mindless things; the absurd stories they’d concoct for the admiralty to cover up Tuunbaq, Francis recounting Jopson’s earlier concern (‘He was like a mother hen, James, poor lad’).  
At one point James began taunting Francis with the honours and acclaim they’d receive once they returned home  
‘Think of all the invitations you’ll receive’  
‘Please, don’t.’  
‘You’ll be knighted, without a doubt. Captain Sir Francis Rawdon Moira Crozier. Has quite the ring to it’  
This earned James a good natured but well earned thump.  
‘Of course you’d think that, you posh English git’

The walk back to camp had was much more of a sombre occasion, the note at the cairn reminding both men of all the horrors they had faced in the past year, of those who they had lost and those who they would lose on the long walk to safety. As they crossed the ridge the two struggled to regain the distance which had all but dissolved between them, however this became very easy when they became aware of the atmosphere in camp.  
Can I not leave camp for five fucking minutes? Was Francis’ immediate thought as he saw the chaos that seemed to be occurring mere meters in front of them.  
‘The marines are running’

~~~

Hickey and Tozer had hung, and with them so had their prospects of survival. There was a small part of Francis’ mind which had known it was coming since the day they captured The Lady, had known that there was a level of brutality which if found in a man could never be cured. The two had been buried alongside Irving, who was to be given a service in the morning. The mutineers would be given no such thing.

Although it was only early evening he had sent the men to their tents and made his way to his own, needing solitude. What were they going to do? They had no knowledge as to whether or not Lieutenant Fairholme’s party had even got to Fort Resolution, let alone make the return journey for rescue. The weight of the death of the esquimaux family weighed on his shoulders like lead. They could have been their salvation, could have ensured that at least some of them survived the long journey home. They would lose more now, that he knew, what with the scurvy and the poison in the cans. He took a steadying breath; he could not fall apart, he would not let himself. The men were relying on his leadership and he was not going to leave Fitzjames alone again. As if called by thoughts alone he heard the rustle of his tent flaps being opened and closed and felt the other man sit at his side on the cot. For a long while they did not speak and hardly touched, the events of the day having left them without the energy to put words to what had happened. Eventually, it was James that broke the silence surrounding them.  
‘You did the right thing.’ His voice was soft but defiant, and Francis admired his strength in such trying times.  
‘They were our only hope, they would have helped us. A child, James’ His voice cracked on the last word, unable to restrain the emotions that had been threatening to bubble over since they arrived back at camp to find this chaos.  
‘There will be more’  
‘I doubt they’ll help us, not after this.’  
‘Have faith’  
Francis looked up at the man next to him and gave him a smile. It was tired and watery and didn’t quite reach his eyes but it was a smile regardless, and it was returned.  
‘Come now, lets rest’  
Francis couldn’t find it in him to argue- the men would be too busy nursing todays wounds to notice or care- and allowed himself to be pulled down onto the cot, James curling around him. They needed to rest, for it was going to be a long walk home.

~~~

Francis awoke in the early hours of the morning before the rest of the men and was glad of it, it wouldn’t do to have Jopson or Bridgens walk in on them in such a way. He took a minute to appreciate the peace in his features, a thing that was becoming increasingly infrequent, smiling softly to himself before attempting to extract himself from the other man’s embrace.  
‘Stay’  
James’ voice was rough from sleep and although quiet, the silence of the camp made it ring out like a bell.  
‘But..’  
James preempted Francis’ excuse ‘They won’t care. Stay’  
It was Fitzjames’ hand firmly taking his wrist that pushed him over the edge, settling back down into the remaining warmth he had left behind and curling back into his partner’s side.

They awoke hours later to the low hum of camp activity, the men getting ready for another long day of hauling. The fact that they hadn’t been woken earlier was a surprise to Fitzjames but he wasn’t going complain, not when Francis was soft and sleepwarm beside him. (the dark voice in the back of his head told him to take it when he could because he would not be around to appreciate it for much longer . He decided to ignore it.)  
He nudged the other man softly with his foot  
‘Francis.’  
The other man awoke, eyes bleary  
‘Morning. Must’ve dozed off there’  
‘Cant be having that, can we, Captain?’  
The two got up quickly, James returning to his tent and Francis trying to re-collect some of the decorum which had departed in the night. Fitzjames had barely been gone for five minutes before Jopson turned up.  
‘I came in earlier, sir, but you were otherwise occupied’  
Francis couldn’t find the words to respond before Jopson did the job for him  
‘You needn’t worry. There are many men doing that now, it being as cold as it is.’  
‘Thank you, Jopson. How fare the men?’  
With that they fell into their usual morning chatter, Thomas filling Francis in on the feeling of the men whilst diligently shaving the beginnings of a five o clock shadow from his jaw. It was a job far below his station now yet he seemed reluctant to give it up and Francis didn’t have the heart to refuse him, so he sat there enjoying the younger man’s company and listening to him rattle on about supplies.

The command meeting was a simple one, if not sombre in nature considering the occurrences yesterday, Irving’s absence being a sore reminder. Under the strict instruction of Goodsir some of the men were to be pulled in boats, being too weak to even walk. This is precisely what Francis had been aiming to avoid by started camp but it had become clear that the men needed distraction. Without the strict routine of being on ship dangerous ideas had spread, and this needed to be prevented at all cost. Le Vesconte had spoken to Mr Hartnell (another of the lot he had flogged months previously. Had this really been brewing for so long?) And they had a list of men who they would disarm permanently for the remainder of the expedition. It was Fitzjames who had provided the tension at the end of the meeting, when Francis had suggested he take a break from hauling and walk beside the sleds. He waited until the others had left to raise his objections:  
‘I will not be treated like an invalid, Francis’ He looked exhausted but his eyes were fired up with a determination Crozier knew was impossible to kill.  
‘I do not do this to undermine you, James, just to allow you to rest. After what happened yesterday it is clear we both need to be present in command and that cannot be done if you drive yourself into the ground’  
That was from his position riding atop one of the sledges  
‘We cannot be seen to show weakness, not now.’  
Francis gave up. It was better than to argue with the man when he was like this, that he knew.

This turned out to be a grave error. It was only mid afternoon when James collapsed, blood from the wound in his chest seeping through the dirty cream of his waistcoat.


	3. III

**** The next day they were saved. Francis had been keeping vigil in James’ tent when he had heard the whooping coming from the other end of their camp, rushing out of tent to be greeted with Little, beaming with an expression Francis thought he would never again see. 

_ ‘ _ Its Fairholme’s party. They have just been sighted to the south. We are saved, Sir. We are saved.’ Francis, in that moment overcome with relief, had pulled the younger man into a bonebreaking hug.

‘Go and alert the men who do not already know and gather the officers for a meeting in the command tent’ 

‘Yes sir’

Neither could hide the smiles on their faces as they parted, Edward off to alert the men of the good news and Francis back into James’ tent. 

‘Did you hear that, James? You are going to live, we all are.’ Crozier could not prevent the tears that slipped down his cheeks. 

The smile that had formed on James’ cracked and bleeding lips had only added to Francis’ happiness- oh how he had worried he would never see that again. He took the other man’s hands in his own and kissed his knuckles. 

‘Go and meet the men, Francis. I will be fine here for a while.’ James said, his voice barely a whisper but hopeful. As much as Francis wanted to stay with the man before him he knew he had a rescue party to greet and resources to organise. He left the tent with a promise to send for Goodsir and made his way to the command tent. The camp was awash with sudden activity, hope  temporarily washing away the exhaustion that had been ever-present for months now. A small group Francis couldn’t recognise, men from the Company no doubt, were already passing around food and lemon juice. They were going to get home. 

~~~

Although hopeful, the feeling in the command meeting was somewhat more measured than that of the men. Fairholme’s journey had not been without casualties; two men had died on the journey  to the Fort and they had had to leave another three there to regain their strength whilst the remaining few, joined by a group of men from the Hudson Bay Company, had retraced their steps back to King William Island and the men who awaited their rescue. The doctor who had come with the company was alerted of those who most urgently needed tending, and Francis had to restrain himself from showing too much favour towards the man who he had left less than an hour beforehand. It was decided that they would keep camp for as long as it was needed to get the majority of men back on their feet before they continued south, under Company instructions to head for Rankin inlet- a trading outpost on Hudson Bay itself. Here, it was decided, they would take a boat to Greenland and then to home. 

Fairholme and the company men were  exhausted from their eight hundred mile walk so Francis kept the meeting short to allow them to rest and get something to eat. He saw Blanky waiting for him when he left the tent.

‘I knew we were right sending that party out last year’ he called out as Francis approached.

‘It was your idea as much as it was mine’ 

It was true, Francis did not know what he would have done in those months without Thomas’ constant presence as an ally and a friend. He knew what they were both thinking but neither had the gall to say- God know what would have happened if Sir John had lived. They’d all be dead, most likely. 

‘Not looking forward to meeting their surgeons though’

Francis laughed, confused at this incongruous statement. All Blanky did to reply was reach down to reveal his stump which, due to scurvy, had begun to rot away. Francis couldn’t stop himself wincing, to which Thomas could only laugh 

‘I’ve dealt with worse, was fine the first time around’ 

‘Yes, but I doubt the company has brought the whiskey which was so valuable last time’

‘And for that you, no doubt, are grateful’ 

Francis feigned annoyance at this low blow but the two were soon reduced to their usual schoolboy sniggering, only retaining composure when they were interrupted by Goodsir approaching from the direction of Fitzjames’ tent. 

‘News of the princess no doubt’ he said, shooting Francis a sidelong glance only to see the other man’s manner change drastically to one of upmost concern and attention

‘Oh Francis, if you could see your face’ he said, dissolving again into raucous laughter which Crozier barely registered, focused as he was on the medic.

‘How is he?’ He could barely mask the concern in his voice.

‘The company doctors are seeing to him now. They came in the nick of time, captain, For they believe he will make a full recovery with enough time’

Francis felt his body sag with relief ‘Oh thank God. And what of the rest of the men?’

‘We have yet to see everyone but seeing as he was one of the worst affected I believe there is hope for us all.’

Whilst Goodsir had maintained his ever-present calmness there was a light in his eyes which Francis had not seen for a while and his voice was full of optimism. Francis thanked Goodsir profusely made for Fitzjames’ tent but was stopped by a hand on his arm 

‘They are tending to his wounds and letting him rest. It is important that he gets all the sleep he can’ 

Succumbing to the doctor’s request, he returned his attention to Blanky.

‘Never’ve guessed it, you and Fitzjames becoming so attached. You bloody hated him’ 

‘Thank you for the reminder, Thomas’ Francis was goodnatured and yet there was a tension in his voice, a warning of sorts.

‘’s he better in bed than Miss Cracroft or what?’

‘Shh, Thomas’ Francis hissed, looking around to check if they were overheard and dragging the other man out to the edge of camp.

‘It.. Its not like that’ Francis looked at the ground, shuffling his feet on the scree.

‘Be careful’ Thomas’ tone had changed to one uncharacteristically serious ‘you have had men flogged on this expedition for acts you’re committing, and thats not even thinking about what could happen when we get back home’ 

‘You think I haven’t thought of this?’ 

‘I’m your friend, Francis. I don’t want you getting hurt. Sophia was bad enough but this? This is on another level.’

‘Enough!’ Francis ran a hand through his hair. ‘Enough’ He repeated, quieter this time. Blanky’s statements had hit home and given voice to the worries that plagued him in the early hours. He knew his feelings for James were deeper than just physical lust formed out of loneliness and lack of female company. He loved James as he had once loved Sophia, sometimes he felt more so. It was wrong on so many levels, that he knew. Whether or not James felt the same was a whole another issue. He loved him now, that he had no doubt about, but whether or not that would continue once they got home and he was surrounded by other beautiful, charismatic people?

The other man gave him a look, still highly sceptical,

‘Just, be careful, alright’

Francis walked back to his tent, Blanky’s words leaving him exhausted and wrung out. He sat down on his cot and put his head in his hands, willing away the thoughts he had been repressing for months. He had almost lost Fitzjames, he had been so sure of it, and he did not have the energy to think about losing him again. Would that be worse than his death, he thought; having him alive, and yet being untouchable? His hand ached for a glass of whiskey, a feeling so rare now but just as potent when it did rear its ugly head. Fitzjames was better and he was going to survive. They all were. Surely that was a thing of celebration, regardless of whether or not the thing they had would survive with it once they reached home. He needed distraction. Knowing the man causing him such distress was likely asleep he made his way to the command then to pour over charts and plan the march to Rankin Inlet. The journey from where they were now  was around five hundred miles, nearly half of the distance to Fort Resolution. It had taken them the best part of a fortnight to get where they were from the boats, so the journey would take three months at least, not including time taken to camp and rest. The boats back to England would take another month on top of that, weather permitting. He would focus on that now, focus on getting his men across ice and unknown terrain, before he let thoughts of home bother him. He set about making lists; itineraries of items they should keep or discard, lists of their supplies and the ones brought by the rescue party, ration calculations, men they could trust enough to arm and those who should be watched, anything to keep him occupied.

It was early evening by the time he was interrupted by Bridgens offering him dinner, which was to be held in the mess tent with the officers and some of the men from the Company. Although the idea of company at this time was the last thing Francis wanted, the prospect of food not coming from one of the wretched poisoned cans was enough to make him get up from where he was sitting and make his way to the officers mess. The dinner went without hitch, the fresh caribou meat brought by the company tasting like food of the gods compared to what they had been used to. The men from the company showed great interest in their expedition, and Le Vesconte was more than happy to take James’ place recounting stories whilst Francis sat and observed, answering questions with equally as brief answers. He took his leave early, using his abstinence to depart when after dinner drinks were being served, and went back to his tent. He was half way there when he was approached by Mr Bridgens. The man had taken to his medical duties with zeal and was busy aiding Goodsir and the company doctor in tending to the men.

‘Commander Fitzjames is asking for you, sir. I have left him some soup, but he might be too weak to feed himself, so you may have to aid him’

Hearing that James had requested his presence did a little to further quieten the voice which Thomas had earlier given validation to, and he smiled.

‘I will go to him immediately. Could you ensure we are not interrupted?’

‘Of course, captain’

Fitzjames was awake when Francis entered. After the man had left earlier in the morning he had been overcome by the ministrations of both Goodsir and the practised hand of the surgeon from the Hudson Bay Company. They had patched his wounds in his arm and side, and supplied  him with bitter lemon juice and hot broth. It had taken all of his energy and he had slept all afternoon and for most of the evening, oblivious to the activity around him in camp. When he had awoken to Bridgens bringing him more soup he had asked for Francis- they usually ate together and he missed his presence. As usual, Francis gave a perfunctory knock on the crossbar of the tent before entering and James couldn’t hide the smile that overcame his features. But a day earlier he had been contemplating the limited time he had with the man before him and now he need not worry.

‘I am under instruction from the good doctor Bridgens to give you your dinner. I hope you do not mind me being your nursemaid.’ 

James gave a shallow laugh, wincing as it pulled at the wound on his chest. ‘I recall my nursemaid being a lot more comely’ 

‘You’re going to have to make do with what you’ve got I’m afraid’ 

Crozier’s eyes were warm as they went through the motions of their usual good natured sparring.

‘How are we going to go about this?’ He addressed mostly to the bowl which had been placed on the table near James’ head. In response, James tried to push himself up on the pillows, but that proved to be even more painful than his previous attempt at laughter and he found himself taking in a sharp breath through his teeth, causing Francis to rush to his side.

‘Easy there, James’. He said, taking him by his shoulders. ‘Lets take this slowly, hm? Don’t want you undoing all of Goodsir’s handiwork’. 

After much shuffling about they found a position, Francis sitting behind James on the bed who in turn was rested against the other man’s chest. Francis’ hands rested on James’ lap holding the bowl. 

‘If someone walked in on this now’ James mused somewhat amusedly and Francis’ mind was again sent to the conversation earlier that afternoon.

‘I told Bridgens that we were not to be interrupted. A man, I can imagine, who would not be too happy to return to this bowl still full’ He lifted the spoon to James’ lips, who in turn accepted it and took a mouthful. They repeated this until the bowl was all but finished and Francis had returned it to its place on the crate by the cot, although he made no move to move from where James was rested against his chest. The other man had turned his head so his face was tucked into Francis’ neck and where the bowl had been their hands were held together. Fitzjames allowed his eyes to close, focusing on the steady pressure of Francis’ chest against his back and their entwined hands. He thought of London, how they could take rooms and every evening could be spent like this, the sudden presence of a future opening up in front of him. 

‘You are very dear to me, Francis. I was so worried I was going to lose you. I am glad we have time, now.’ he mumbled, lips brushing crozier’s neck. He felt the other man smile and pressed a kiss to his jaw. By way of answer Francis ducked his head slightly so their lips joined, opening slightly so their tongues could mingle. It was slow but no less passionate and into it Francis poured all of the words which he failed to say. 

‘All the time in the world’ Francis softly replied when they parted, a small smile playing on his lips.

~~~

Time they most certainly had. It was another week of evenings like that before James was well enough to properly leave his tent, and another two after that before he had the strength required for such a walk as they were about to embark on. He walked beside the sledges chatting to various people, relishing in the fresh ears of the Company hunters who had yet to hear his stories 

_ (Francis would admit to no one how happy he was to hear them again, no matter how much they drove him up the wall. ‘If you don’t shut up about that wretched bullet wound it may just try and kill you again’ he shot back over his shoulder one afternoon when his patience was wearing particularly thin, earning a bark of laughter in response.) _

They reached Rankin Inlet by late August. The sight of civilisation in the distance had created a sense of elation in the men which Francis had never before seen and for the second time that expedition he felt further weight lifted from his shoulders- they were one that step further from death, and one step closer to home. They had sent word ahead of their arrival in the form of Lieutenant Little and one of the Company hunters, and were greeted warmly by the small group of men there. Upon arrival there was a short meeting held between one of the Company’s senior officials and the officers of the expedition regarding their journey, accommodation, and how they were planning to travel home , but it soon became clear that all were exhausted. The men were sent to bunkhouses usually occupied by whalers and seasonal workers for the company, and James and Francis were to share one of the larger cabins on the outskirts of the settlement. Francis would have been more than happy to share the bunkhouse with the men, but he was soon persuaded by Fitzjames with the prospect of proper warmth and the fact that the two would be sharing, and unlikely to be interrupted for a long while. They were shown to the cabin by a young irishman named Martin. Meeting another of his countrymen so far from home only added to Francis’ happiness and the two struck up quick conversation about their homeland and shared experiences. He was from Enniskillen originally and like Francis had gone to sea at the age of thirteen, working aboard whaling ships until joining the Hudson Bay Company six years ago. It was nice to hear Francis talking for once, James thought as the two chattered away- he rarely spoke about his childhood. Neither of them did, to be honest. They soon reached the cabin and were saying their goodbyes when James was given a real surprise, Francis waving goodbye and calling after the man in a mouthful of syllables James could not make head nor tale of.

‘What was that?’ He asked after Francis had shut the door and was in the process of taking off his slops. 

The other man looked up

‘I was just thanking him.’ His face was blank, as if James was asking the most obvious question in the world ‘He has given up his house for us, it is the least I could do. No doubt you would do the same were we in Rio’ 

This acknowledgement of their shared foreignness warmed James, a silent acceptance of the confessions he had made those months ago when he thought that he may not get another chance to say such things. 

Before Martin had left he had left water heating on the stove in the corner and the kettle promptly began to whistle. Since Francis was barely out of his slops it was James who went to wash first, Francis going to sit on the bed at the other end of the room. When previously he had only been given brief flashes of James’ bare skin to admire he could now watch as he began to undress;  the removal of his cravat to reveal a column of neck, broad shoulders once hidden under layers of wool and cotton now revealed to his gaze. Crozier’s fingers twitched as he ached to go and touch the man before him, James’ small sounds of pleasure caused by the hot water only adding to his arousal. It was an odd feeling, the combination of attraction to Fitzjames’s body and sadness caused by his all too prominent ribs and freshly healed scar on his chest- a stark reminder of what they’d been through and the effect it had had on both of them. Only when James went to remove his trousers did Francis look away, not wanting to invade the other man’s privacy, which he clearly found amusing;

‘Getting coy are we, Francis?’  

Fitzjames’ voice was teasing, clearly fully aware of Crozier’s prior appraisal of his form. Francis only returned his gaze, accepting the challenge put forward by the other man and letting his gaze travel up and down his body, making no effort to hide the desire which was clearly written across his face. Regardless of how shameless Fitzjames was acting, there was a slight flush travelling up his chest and his cock twitched.

Francis began unbuttoning his waistcoat, shedding it and working on his shirt buttons which he then too removed. Getting up, he walked over to James slowly and deliberately. Picking up the flannel which had been discarded in the basin he knelt, running the wet cloth over James’ inner thighs. 

‘Wouldn’t want the water getting cold now, would we?’ He matched James’ playful tone as he went further up his legs, reaching behind to graze his balls. There was a thud as the other man leant back against the washstand, his knuckles going white as he gripped the surface. Francis reached up to rinse the cloth then repeated the action, pressing a soft kiss to the soft skin above his knee as he ran the flannel across the cleft in James’ asscheeks and again grazed his balls, causing the other man to buck ever so slightly. Francis trailed his kisses further up James’ thigh before placing messy kisses up his hard cock, James making noises in earnest now, hissing sharply through his teeth as Crozier took the head in his mouth,  teasing it with his tongue briefly before taking more in. His hands were firm on James’ hips, holding him still, running his tongue up the pulsing vein on the under side. Above him he could hear James’ heavy breaths and bitten back groans as he came closer to completion and he hummed, smiling a much as he could whilst his mouth was otherwise occupied. James’ thighs tensed and his hands moved down to Francis’ face. 

‘Francis…’ There was an urgency in his voice. Francis knew what this meant and kept going as James spent in his mouth, tonguing at the head and softening his actions as he worked him down from his orgasm. It wasn’t long before James was tugging him up, Francis ignoring the protestation of his knees as he met the man in a searing kiss. Without hesitation James pushed his hand down Francis’ unbuttoned trousers and took his prick in his hand, giving it a sharp tug. It was now Crozier’s turn to buck and moan into James’ mouth as he stripped his cock with practised ease, pausing every so often to play with his balls before returning to the main act. 

‘Fuck’ Francis gasped as he pulled back for air, breathing heavily as he rested his head against James’ temple. His hands were gripping the other man’s hips where there were bound to be bruises there tomorrow, and in the back of his mind he prayed there would be no check ups by company doctors for they would prove very hard to explain. He could feel the heat and tension build to an unbearable degree in his stomach and he sought out James’ mouth again, licking his way in and making unabashed noises of pleasure as he felt his orgasm near. It soon hit him and he felt his other hand leave Fitzjames to hold himself up on the washstand, resting their damp foreheads together as he caught his breath.

‘good Christ’ 

James could only hum in response, smiling when their eyes met. Wordlessly he turned slightly, pouring more hot water into the basin and picking up the discarded flannel before returning his attention to Francis and running it over his chest. Regardless of the miles of walking and reduced rations there was a softness to his body which had not shifted and James was grateful for this, relishing in its solidness as he ran the cloth over the other mans’ stomach and then up his side. The heat had gone from Francis’ eyes and was replaced by tenderness as he watched James work, wordlessly raising his arms as he ran the cloth underneath them. The cloth was then returned to the water and Fitzjames hands again returned to the buttons at his waist, hesitant this time. Francis nodded, smiling slightly, and pushed them along with his undergarments down his legs, stepping out of them and kicking them to the side. It was now James’ turn to crouch and run the cloth up Francis’ thighs, cleaning away the residue from his recent release along with the dirt of their journey. Francis hoped that the lack of excitement in his spent cock would not be taken with offence, he was not as young or virile as he once was, but Fitzjames’ actions were sweet and tender and he soon returned to his standing position. His hair was hanging damp around his face and Francis reached up to tuck it behind his ears. It was only mid afternoon but the two were exhausted and the bed, although small, in the corner of the room seemed increasingly inviting. He stifled a yawn.

‘I, for one, could appreciate some rest’ 

‘hear hear’ 

As reluctant as they were to break contact they briefly parted to don sleep shirts before crawling into the bed, James lying down first and lifting the blanket up for Francis to join him. They resumed the position they had on the long trek across King William, both on their sides with James’ back flush with Francis’ chest, their legs entangled. As soon as they were settled Francis could feel his eyes closing, and he pressed a kiss to the nape of James’ neck.

‘goodnight, James’ 

The other man responded by linking their fingers and pressing a kiss to Francis’ knuckles

‘Goodnight.’

~~~

They spent a month at Rankin Inlet, regaining their strength and resting in preparation for the final leg of their journey home. Much of it was spent telling a steady flow of Hudson Bay Company hunters the story of their journey and of the things which they had discovered. There was a moderate interest in their magnetic observations and Fitzjames enjoyed sharing the knowledge of what they’d discovered, his usual tales of grandeur replaced with talk of magnetism and figures. 

This lead to an interesting conversation one evening; the two were working through some of the scientific calculations that had been carried out over their two year voyage, with Francis adding notes of comparison with what he had discovered in previous years on his antarctic expedition with Ross. 

‘I’ll never understand why the Admiralty gave me this position. Not with all your experience’ James muttered to himself as Francis added some notes from Rossbank to the margins of one of Fitzjames’ logbooks. Crozier could only laugh in response.

‘It would have saved us a lot of time.’

‘That and tea. Will you be complaining to John Ross as well as Fortnum and Mason on our return?’

‘Don’t push it’ Francis’ threat was lighthearted as he tried to return his focus to his work. They both regarded their past animosity with amusement and the particular incident with the tea was a frequent topic in their sparring. 

‘My dear John Ross’ James continued, voice full of mischief, ‘I am writing to express my dissatisfaction with your choice of James Fitzjames to carry out the magnetic observations on the 1845 expedition to find the Passage. Not only do I have more experience than him in such a field, being a fellow of the Royal Society, but the decision has greatly delayed him in succeeding your son as the second James I have buggered in the captain’s berth of HMS Terror’ 

This drew Francis completely from his work

‘you….’

He couldn’t finish his sentence before James cut in again 

‘You don’t want to hear the one to Fortnum and Mason’

It was then that Francis stood in his chair, grabbed James by his cravat and pulled him into a firm kiss.

‘bugger you’ 

It was a poor choice of words, and James could only laugh into the other man’s mouth. 

~~~

It wasn’t long before the boat arrived that would take them home. The  _ HMS Albion _ was usually a whaling vessel however it had been commandeered by the admiralty to take them all back to London, probably with a large reward waiting on their arrival. The vessel was large enough, but after taking her crew as well as what was left of that of Erebus and Terror it was rather cramped below decks. This did have its advantages however, as James (not uncharacteristically) had used it as an excuse for them to share a bunk as a way of saving space. Ostensibly James was to take the bunk due to the injuries he’d succumbed to and Francis was to take a hammock hung from the ceiling however the two inevitably ended up on James’ bunk curled together in what was becoming their usual fashion. All semblance of rank had dissolved since reaching the Inlet so they were not likely to be woken by either of their stewards, leaving them free to wake as they pleased, wrapped in each other’s embrace and trade leisurely and sleepy kisses as morning light trickled through the small porthole. 

This and complete absence of work meant that the journey was a peaceful one. Although odd to be on a ship and have no job whatsoever, there was something deep within Francis which enjoyed it. He had known that this expedition to the arctic would be his last, and now it was behind him he was sure that he would not be returning to sea once he got home. He was an old man when he left and he felt that the years on the ice had only aged him further. He thought back to the conversation he’d had with Sophy and couldn’t help but laugh at the irony; this decision was the one which would open her heart and yet it was his which had closed to her in favour of another. He could only pray Fitzjames felt the same. The thought of the other man returning from this tussle with death only to risk his life again filled him with dread, so he did his best to ignore them.

~~~

One morning James was awoken by the slide of the door to their berth. He knew by the tread of the boots and he lack of knock that it was Francis. He cracked his eyes open as the other man turned to shut the door. 

‘Good morning, Francis’ he mumbled, his voice still rough with sleep.

‘Back in the land of the living I see’ The other man jested, sitting on the edge of the bunk ‘How are you feeling this morning, James?’

_ The two had begun to suffer from night terrors. Last night it had been James’ turn, waking in a cold sweat and gasping for air like a man drowned. This had woken Francis from his slumber and he had held the other man as he shook against his side, rubbing soothing patterns into his back and whispering assurances into his ear. It had been Sir John, that was all he knew from what Fitzjames had shared and Francis felt for him; yes they had not had the best relationship but James had seen the man as a father and his loss had affected him greatly. When Francis had awoken at his usual early hour he had made sure to rise quietly, pressing a brief kiss to Fitzjames’ temple before quietly leaving the berth to let the other sleep.   _

He sat himself up against the pillows and rested his back on the wall of the berth.

‘Much improved thank you. How goes it on deck, we must nearly be home by now’

‘Aye, we will be in London by tomorrow afternoon if all goes to plan’ 

This news should’ve brought joy to James’ heart- after three years of long travelling, especially after the months of hauling all of their worldly possessions across King William’s Land, it should have been a relief to get home, to stability; but in those years something had changed which would have a great impact on life on land.

‘What is is, James?’ Francis looked concerned, sensing the unease in his companions demeanour  at what should be such great news. 

‘What of us, Francis?’ James said, voice was serious and eyes downcast and avoiding Crozier’s. ‘We have all heard of men forming bonds like our on long voyages. It is presumed that those bonds only exist due to loneliness and lack of female companionship, and are broken on return to home. Will this be the same, Francis? Will we return to London for you go back to running after Miss Cracroft and all of this to be forgotten?’ 

‘James, look at me.’ 

Francis’ voice was stern yet warm, and James reluctantly met his eyes, which were strong and unwavering in their gaze. ‘We will return to London and find some rooms together. It is uncommon but not unheard of, especially amongst navy men,  for two bachelors to do as such. We can live in comfort and peace and exactly as we have been, albeit without the scurvy and mouldy ships biscuits. In the interim, if you would like, you are welcome to come back to my rooms. They are small and by no means up to your grand standards, but will be warm and provide a roof over our heads’

James moved his hand to lay over Crozier’s and squeezed lightly ‘I should like that’ 

‘It is secured then. You needn’t be so worried. I can assure you it’ll take a lot more than stupid English custom to rid yourself of me.’ 

~~~

As planned, the next afternoon they docked at Woolwich. Both James and Francis had stood on deck as they sailed down the Thames and docked in the same place from which they’d set off three and a half years ago, hands clasped behind their backs, the picture of respectability. It wasn’t long, however, before Francis grew tired of the small talk on deck and headed back down to their  shared cabin to collect his meagre possessions and head home. After a respectable amount of time James followed him. 

‘This is it then’ Francis said as James took the few strides needed to cross the cabin and stand in front of the shorter man, taking his hands

‘that it is, Francis’ James replied, feeling too the unspoken  _ what next _ that came after. Regardless of their conversation the other morning, the two had sent wires from Stromness; James to his younger brother in Kensington and Francis to his housekeeper, to prepare for their imminent arrival. They had decided that they would part, if only briefly, until they could sort out permanent living arrangements that would suit both of them.

‘Write, won’t you?’ Regardless of their conversation, James had been unable to completely shake his insecurity surrounding this little thing they’d built, worried that something forged in such cold climes would be unable to survive the relative heat of London. 

‘of course I will, James, you daft bugger’ Crozier replied, taking James by the waist and kissing his lips, although they were interrupted by a knock on the door ( _ thank God, James thought, that he’d shut it _ ) ‘All ready to depart, sirs?’ It was Jopson, clearly carrying out his duties to the very end ‘We’ll be with you in a minute, Jopson’ Francis replied, his demeanour brightening slightly. James slid open the door ‘Ready, Captain?’, to which Francis could only laugh and follow his second out and up on to the deck. 

~~~

The two men had parted with  strained formality on the pavement, settling for a handshake before James climbed up into a cab and was drawn away, leaving Crozier to stare at the Thames  and try not think about the pang in his chest caused by the absence of the almost constant presence of his partner.  _ ‘ _ You could almost think we were just setting off by the look on your face, captain’

It was Jopson, who had clearly sidled up to Crozier whilst he was off daydreaming like a lovestruck girl. 

‘In all honestly, Jopson, I will miss her.’ 

‘She has been our home for the best part of ten years, sir, it is understandable’ 

‘where are you off too then’ Francis said, changing the subject turning his head to look at the man who, in time, had come to be a son to him. 

‘home to my sister, sir.’ 

‘Well send her my kindest regards, and I hope to see you both soon’ 

And with that Francis climbed up into the cab which had just pulled up, and made his way home. 

~~~

As expected, returning home to his rooms in Bloomsbury was not the grandest of affairs. He could see that Mrs William, the woman who acted as a somewhat unconventional housekeeper, had done her job in airing the place out and warming the fires before he returned, but the rooms still felt impersonal and cold. Previously, the constant hum of alcohol in his blood would have prevented this from bothering him, the haze it created blurring his surroundings into something more palatable; however now, with his cleared mind, he missed the activity of the ship, the constant background noise of rustling fabric and muffled voices reminding him that he wasn’t as alone in the world as the voices in his head wanted him to think. 

The rest of the evening was carried out in a methodical, almost mechanical way. He heated a pan of water and washed in the sink, discarding his threadbare and overworn uniform on the chair behind him (Both his waistcoat and jacket were missing multiple buttons and the latter was threadbare in parts but he knew deep in his mind he would never be able to get rid of it, not with it being a testament to his survival and a talisman of sorts). Dressed in some soft breeches and an old shirt he then heated up whatever Mrs William had left on the stove and ate it sitting at the large oak kitchen table. He finished his meal and for the first time since sobriety found himself subconsciously reaching to the right of his plate for a glass of whiskey which was not there. There was a bottle, he knew, in one of the cupboards, but as soon as the thought entered his head he thought of Fitzjames; the look of disappointment that would settle in his eyes and knit his brows together. 

_ This says a lot, the fact that you can spend five months trekking across an inhabitable landscape yet it is your own company which drives you to drink. _

He let out a grunt of laughter at the cruelty of his own internal monologue and let his thoughts wander to the man who was worth living for.

(‘ _ God wants you to live, Francis. He wants you to live.’ That memory was enough to shake Francis to the core. He had been so sick when he said that. The stench of death and decay had clung about him like a shroud and Crozier had been so sure he was going to lose him. He sat by his side in the infirmary tent, holding Fitzjames’ hand as tight as he dared while his body seemed so fragile, like if he squeezed too hard he would fall apart. He had never been a particularly religious man, but that night he had prayed to God, to the angels, to anyone who was listening in that godforsaken place, to save this man, please, if it is the last thing you do. The next day the rescue arrived, a group of hunters from the Hudson Bay company, and Francis had cried, weeping his thanks into his clasped hands as he knelt at the foot of his cot. _ )

He looked around his bare kitchen and thought of his rooms, and how they would pale into insignificance compared to the grandiosity that James would be enjoying at this current moment. Maybe it was he, and not James who had to worry about the possible crumbling of their relationship; he was young, one of the most eligible bachelors in the navy, and was bound to find a much more advantageous prospect than an illegal relationship with a man sixteen years his senior. Francis gave up. He rose from his chair and went to bed, avoiding the mirror as he got changed into his nightshirt, knowing fully well how repulsed he would be by his own reflection, and hoping that sleep would provide some respite from the thoughts which he had been avoiding for so long. As he lay down under his sheets, he tried to ignore how empty his bed felt without the warm presence of his second curled into his side, and tried to forget temporarily the feeling of his hair tickling his nose, how he would brush his lips against his cheek in a chaste kiss goodnight.

_ The first time they spent the night together was on King William Island, curled into each others sides, touching at every possible point as if they wished their two bodies to fuse into one. They had spent the evening exploring each other, letting hands wander whilst sharing long, leisurely kisses, Francis tracing lazy patterns onto James’ side. As they had felt their eyes close and sleep draw close, James had brushed a kiss to Crozier’s cheek before settling down, back to his chest and legs tangled. When, the next night, after Francis had came in Fitzjames’ spit slicked fist, muffling his pleasure in the other man’s shoulder, the sweet gesture was repeated, Crozier could only smile. _

~~~

The evening had gone no better for Fitzjames. Although his wounds had fully healed, the staccato bumping of carriage wheels over cobbled streets had used muscles he had not been aware of, having been used to the somewhat softer rocking of a ship, and he had felt his whole body tense to protect itself against the fresh onslaught of pain. By the time he had arrived in front of his brother’s grand abode his face was drawn and his whole body ached. He was greeted effusively by his brother, who immediately started asking him questions the second he stepped in the door, only to stop when he noticed the drawn expression on Fitzjames’ face.

‘My God I am sorry brother, you have barely got in the door! I have quite forgotten myself. Clara will show you to your room and draw you a bath. Join me in the parlour when you are ready, I am quite eager to hear the tales you must have from your adventure’ 

James gave a tired smile and went to follow the maid up the stairs to his chambers where sure enough there was a steaming bath waiting for him in front of a roaring fire. He dismissed the maid and began to disrobe. Glancing, out of habit, at the mirror which stood in the corner of the room, he realised how much of a shadow he was of the man who had stood in this room four years ago; not only was he quieter, having left the final shreds of his arrogance with the unnecessary items on Erebus, but his hair was disordered and frizzy around his face and his ribs protruded from his once muscled frame. He looked tired, sure that the lines running down his cheeks had deepened and new ones had appeared on his forehead. He had the beginnings of crows feet at the creases of his eyes. He recalled a maiden aunt once calling such things laugh lines, having chided one of his cousins for smiling to broadly at a family function; in that case, he’d have to take them up with Francis, who could be the only possible cause for such things. 

Dinner was as excruciating as James had expected. His brother was overenthusiastic, bombarding him with questions about the nature of the voyage, the frozen north, and their survival. James had used his period of peace in the bath to prepare him for this, to summon his old self and formulate tales which left out the true horrors of the expedition- the creature, the smell of burning flesh, and the smell of death which followed it. He stuck to stories of camaraderie; the winter they had spent on Beechey island with the men playing football in the snow, of Jacko, of the aurora. William, albeit surprised to hear these stories which were so unlike Fitzjames’ usual tales of heroism, was greatly amused, his curiosity having been satisfied for the meantime. This period of accord between the two was quick to end. For the past year the food he had been eating had been simple fare, getting increasingly so during the long trek across King William Land. A combination of this and the scurvy it had caused had weakened his stomach and on the return journey he had been under strict instruction by Goodsir to avoid rich foods and large meals, eating small amounts regularly as not to overwhelm his system. He had failed to alert his brother’s staff of these requirements, and the food they had served had been decadent; a rich creamy tomato soup, followed by thick slices of roast beef with gravy and vegetables. Foolishly he had thought that he would be able to stomach such things by now, but halfway through the main course he had felt the protestations  begin. Not wanting his brother to worry he had proceeded, trying to ignore the roiling at his middle, but just as dessert was being served he had felt the familiar lurch in his stomach and he had had to make a hasty exit, rushing to his rooms and retching it up into the chamber pot he had hastily pulled out from its place under the foot of the bed. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the bedpost, willing down the remaining nausea and pulling away the cravat that threatened to choke him. The exhaustion from the past days, nay years, hit him with such an overwhelming force that he shed his outer garments, leaving only his undershirt and small clothes, and crawled into bed.

~~~

The letter came in the morning 

_ Captain Francis Rawdon Moira Crozier, _

_ You have been cordially invited to a ball held by the admiralty to honour those who survived the expedition lead by the late Sir John Franklin, held on the 2nd December at Somerset House. Events begin at 19:00. _

‘They wasted no time in arranging that’ Francis grumbled to himself over his cup of tea. He knew that the next few days would be filled with naval meetings, fielding questions about a journey he would much rather not think about, asked by men who had not left England in decades. He rubbed his brow, feeling the beginnings of a headache. Putting it down to his sleepless night, he finished the dregs of his tea, steeling himself for a day which would require all the patience he could muster. There was a lot to do- he had to go and see his tailor about a new uniform which had not been worn down to nothing or abandoned as his dress uniform had been on HMS Terror ( _ Good riddance _ he had thought as he left it in the drawers underneath his bunk when they had finally departed the ship. He had always hated the thing) and then he was to drop in at the Royal Society to give some of his findings from the expedition. God knows where he would find the energy- he had barely slept last night, having been woken by a dream which he would rather forget. 

_ They were all dead, that he had known as he pulled a lone sled across the endless scree of King William. He was the last one left of their fated expedition and it was his punishment to wander the island alone carrying the weight of their deaths on his shoulders. The punishment was Greek in its nature, like a curse placed upon him by vengeful Gods of an age long passed, but he deserved it, that he knew. _ He had woken in the early hours, the embers in his fireplace glowing faintly, and he had been unable to get back to sleep. Yet again he had felt James’ absence keenly and he itched to pick up his pen and write to him and pour out all he was feeling. Without thinking he got out of bed and went to his writing desk, letting the words flow out of his pen like water

_ My dearest James, _

_ I find myself at this ungodly hour unable to  both sleep and remove you from my thoughts. All the time we have had in each other’s constant presence has left me soft and, clearly, unable to get a wink of rest without your presence as a glorified stuffed bear. I know it is impossible to return from a  journey such as ours without feeling its impact on return but I sincerely hope these night terrors abate for I doubt I shall sleep at all otherwise, and I pray that you are not as affected as I. I have found myself having to reassure myself of your very survival in order to calm my flurried thoughts and I long await the evening where I will have your presence at my side as a constant reminder of your glorious survival. _

_ Yours, _

_ Francis) _

He knew now in the light of the morning that this letter would not be sent, that it would sit in his desk drawer never to be read by its intended recipient.

The dreams did not abate. He slept with his back flat against the wall, curled tightly around himself, only to wake up sweating and unable to remove the faces of the men he’d lost from his mind’s eye. James was always amongst them; he could see the blood from his freshly opened wounds staining his shirt, the rings of red surrounding his irises. It was often his name that rose from his lips immediately as he awoke, sickeningly aware of his absence by his side and having to constantly remind himself that hie did not die, that he is safe, that he brought him home. The letter writing became a habit; he would sit at his desk lit by a single candle as the sun slowly rose over London, the city’s quiet only interrupted by the clatter of the lamplighters and the scratch of his pen over paper. Like the first, none of the letters were sent. There were five letters on his desk now, all addressed to the same house in Kensington, but he was yet to post them.  Being back in his rooms had rekindled the self hatred he’d tried to drown at the bottom of a liquor bottle and the voice in his head was winning the battle (‘ _ He is probably getting on fine without me.’ On bad days, He will write when he is ready.’ When he was feeling more optimistic)  _ thus the letters remained unsent.

~~~

 

Francis couldn’t have been further from the truth; the first night home had only set the pattern for days to come. He enjoyed all the of the comforts his upper class status could afford; warm baths by the fire, good food, and clean clothes waiting for him when he rose in the morning, yet all of this did nothing to erase the memories of all those years on the ice from his mind. He felt his rich surroundings oppressive, the smallest things setting off a chain of thoughts in his head which left him staring into space with shaking hands and the sound of his heartbeat roaring in his ears. He had only been home a day when he had sat by the fire in the grand parlour, horribly transfixed by the flames, unable to look away or remove the thoughts of carnival from his mind’s eye, his ears filled with the screams of the men who had died that night. His brother had walked in on him, a cold sweat on his back and his hands shaking, immediately dragging him away from his daydream;

‘James, by God you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Whatever is the matter?’

James cringed at his poor choice of words. ‘You needn’t worry, brother’. He made an attempt at a smile and rose from his chair, ‘It is late. I shall see you in the morning’ 

Even his nights were riddled with the ghosts that seemed to follow him. Most nights he woke up shivering, tangled in his sheets, the beginnings of a scream on his lips. He reached out blindly into the space next to him for the presence who had been such a comfort, and although he knew that the other man was on the other side of London he still felt a pang of sadness when he found the space cold and empty.

He also contemplated writing, and struggled to quell the pang of disappointment when the butler arrived with post over breakfast every morning and there was nothing from Francis. It was the same fears holding him back, those of rejection and, even worse, discovery. He could remember returning from the Euphrates expedition to discover that two men had been hung for such offences that he was guilty of, how being caught doing such things had threatened Barrow’s reputation. He couldn’t put both of them through that, couldn’t threaten the security they’d fought so hard to return to. What he was scared to put into letters he instead poured into his diary. He had kept one since he was a boy, their volumes kept in a locked trunk in his rooms, and the continuity of such an old habit grounded him. 

He had also received the letter from the admiralty the morning after he had returned and like Francis had marvelled at its speed. Of course he had been to Greenwich in the interim between its arrival and the date set on the card which was now slipped into the back of his diary but he still looked upon the event with trepidation. He didn’t know if he had the strength for such things, to muster the energy now required to be the flamboyant gregarious man he had been before they had all left, and wonder if people would notice the gaping cracks in his facade. He didn’t know whether he wanted them to or not. 


	4. IV

Francis’ carriage drew up outside Somerset House twenty minutes late, his tardiness caused by a combination of his  hatred of social events and the exhaustion that came from a near on fortnight of broken sleep. He handed his greatcoat to the steward and continued into the main room where people were milling around, strategically avoiding the servants carrying trays of champagne. He immediately spotted James across the room; he was surrounded by a group of people who seemed to be hanging on his every word as he regaled them with a tale from their expedition. Francis wondered what he was talking about, which bits he was embellishing and which he was leaving out completely. Every muscle in his body told him to weave his way through the crowd of milling people and join the group feeding off the charisma that rolled off the man in waves but he hung back, allowing him to bask in his glory, admiring him from afar. It wasn’t long before he heard the approach of a heavy uneven step, and his thoughts were interrupted.

‘If someone five years ago told me that I’d see Francis Crozier making moony eyes at James Fitzjames at a bloody naval gala I’d have them for mad’ 

Francis pointedly ignored Blanky’s statement

‘Have yet to bugger back up North, I see’ he joked, by means of a response.

‘Too busy with bloody naval business for that. If I’d known this expedition would take up so much of my time I would’ve stayed at home. The freezing north, that I can handle, but this bureaucracy is doing my head in’ 

They shared a glance, like two naughty schoolboys, and Francis fought off the smirk off his face for the sake of propriety. 

Francis’ tardiness meant that they did not have long to talk before the gong sounded for the meal to begin. They followed the crowd into the ostentatious dining room, Crozier slowing his pace to match the heavy and uneven footfalls of his companion, and took their places. Fitzjames was sitting a few places away on the opposite side of the table from Francis, close enough to be able to hear his conversation but unable to conduct their own without the input of others. As they sat down they made eye contact and James flashed him a smile. It was brief but genuine and did something to quell the anxiety that was sitting like a rock in his stomach.  The dinner dragged on, Francis completely zoning out throughout the speeches and making perfunctory conversation whilst picking at the food on his plate without much gusto. From the quick glances he made in his friend’s direction he could tell that the other was enjoying the event as little as he was, and ached to be alone with him and smooth the ever-present tension from his face. 

The opportunity arose soon enough. After the meal the party was guided through to the previous room, where a band had been placed in order for dancing to occur. Crozier had just found a secluded spot in the corner of the room when he felt a hand on his elbow, and from the touch he knew immediately who it was. 

‘good evening, James’ Francis looked up and smiled at the other man, one of the few genuine expressions he’d made all evening. He glanced around to check that no one was listening ‘I have missed you’. 

At that James smiled, his eyes creasing at the corners, and it warmed the older man to the core. 

‘Let us go somewhere we will not be overheard. Please, Francis’ There was desperation threaded through Fitzjames’ speech and Francis nodded, making apologies as they wove through the crowd, down the deserted hall, and out into the garden. They sat down on a secluded bench and immediately James rested his head on Francis’ shoulder.

‘You look wretched, old man’. He sounded tired, a feeling which Francis was all too familiar with

‘I will not deny it, although I can say the same of you.’ He found himself leaning into the touch, unable to pull away after such a period apart. 

‘I think I might be going mad, Francis. I am haunted by it; the smaller things bring back memories I would give anything to forget. Sleep evades me. And no one seems to understand; they expect me to be the man I was and fail to comprehend the fact that I have seen hell’ 

Francis turned his head and pressed a kiss to his partner’s forehead, who looked up with a deep sadness in his eyes ‘and now I come here and I see the you looking more forlorn than I ever saw you on King William Land. Why are we doing this, Francis?’ 

Their foreheads rested together, and Francis could feel James’ breath puff against his lips. The distant noise from the party was a constant warning that they could so easily be discovered. 

‘Come home with me, James.’ 

It was the only answer Francis could muster, the past few weeks exhaustion catching up with him in a way he couldn’t quite believe and leaving him at a loss for words. 

Wordlessly, James stood up and held out his hands ‘Lead the way’, and it was all Francis could do to take them. 

~~~ 

Their speed hastened as they walked through the garden, the prospect of finally being truly alone together being too much for both of them to handle. They made their apologies to the doorman, who gave them their coats and hailed them a cab. They climbed in and James pulled the curtains at the windows, sitting across from Francis, letting their legs tangle in the space between them. He glanced at the other man from underneath his eyelashes, only to see Francis gazing back at him, the affection clear in his eyes and a soft smile playing upon his lips. Neither of them knew what to say, the fear of being overheard by the driver was too intense, so they kept quiet until they drew up in front of Francis’ humble lodgings. 

‘I fear this is much simpler than what you have been used to since your return’ Francis said as they stepped down from the hansom, embarrassment tinging his voice and making him avoid James’ keen gaze as he unlocked the door and held it open for the other man.

‘I have slept by your side in a tent, with nothing but canvas and the stars over our heads, and felt like the luckiest man alive’ 

As he heard the latch click shut, James tilted Crozier’s head up and lent down, kissing him full and slowly on the lips, letting his feelings sink into the other man’s bones and letting his hands rest on his waist. 

‘Why don’t we find somewhere more comfortable’ Francis murmured, taking James’s hands and leading him up the stairs. There was the remains of a fire burning in the grate which James set about improving as Francis pottered about the kitchen making tea. The simple domesticity of it all warmed him and for a moment he had a vision of a future where this was the normal; the two of them in shared rooms, uninterrupted and able to live like a long married couple might. 

The evening ended with the two men on the sofa in front of the fire in the parlour, James resting against Francis’ chest and their hands joined in James’ lap. They had barely stopped touching since reaching Francis’ rooms, yet to lose the novelty of being able to be oh so close and not fear their discovery. They sat in quiet for a while, the silence being broken only by the crackle of the fire and the soft sound of Francis stroking his thumb up and down James’ shoulder. Both of their eyes had drifted closed, comfortable as they were in each other’s company.

‘We deserve this, after all we’ve been through’ 

Francis words broke the silence of the room  

‘I feel you are right’ James looked down at their tangled legs and entwined fingers, 

‘I find myself thinking that it was all worth it, to come back to this’. He looked up at Francis, his eyes immeasurably fond and Francis obliged him with a kiss. This one lasted, slow and soft, one of Croziers’ hands removing itself from the knot on Fitzjames’ lap to tangle in the hair at the base of his neck, letting his head fall back as the other man trailed kisses down his neck, fiddling with his cravat in order to have access to more skin. 

‘Why don’t we take this to bed, my love’ James suggested, lips grazing the shell of Crozier’s ear.

He nudged the other man ‘come on’ he said, getting up and holding out his hands for the other to take. Francis looked up briefly and took James’ hands, making noises of discontent as the joints in his back popped. 

The two men climbed the stairs, Francis taking James’ hand and leading  him into the bedroom. James went to kiss his lover but was stopped by Francis putting a hand on his chest. 

‘Lets not be overhasty’ he muttered, walking over to the windows and drawing the thick curtains, before returning to James and kissing him softly, beginning to work at the buttons of his waistcoat. James made short work of Francis’ cravat, having already loosened it in their previous explorations and set about mouthing at the skin it exposed, nimble fingers undoing the buttons of his collar as he worked his way down and causing Francis’ hands to cease their ministrations to loosely grip the fabric of James’ waistcoat. When Francis had regained the presence of mind to undo the rest of the buttons, he slid the item off the taller man’s shoulders, unhooking his suspenders in the process so they hung about his thighs. Fitzjames took this pause to do the same, nimble fingers making quick work of Francis’ waistcoat and let it form a puddle on the floor. Whilst he was at it he finished with Crozier’s shirt, following every undone button with a trail of kisses down his chest, and finishing by placing open mouthed kisses to his palms as he undid the links at the cuffs, letting the piece of linen join the waistcoat on the floor. Francis fought the urge to suck his stomach in and hide the middle aged softness of his belly, although James, ever perceptive as he was, sensed the ever so slight flinch and redness spreading up his chest as he placed his hands on the soft middle

‘Beautiful’ he murmured into Crozier’s mouth as the other man reciprocated by fumbling with Fitzjames shirt, working from the bottom up, stopping only to tug at the cravat and unhook cufflinks. The sudden increase of skin contact increased the pace, Fitzjames walking them both back towards the bed. The other man fell back onto the mattress and Fitzjames made short work of both of their trousers and undergarments before climbing to straddle the man underneath him. Francis let his eyes roam over the other man’s body, scarcely believing he was lucky enough to be loved by such an exquisite man as was before him. He ran his hands from where they were resting on James’ hips up to his chest, thumb grazing over his scar and resting there. It was a symbol of sorts, of all the man had been through so that they could both be where they were, together and bathed in the warm glow of the fire (he was still aware that the other man’s ribs were still far too prominent but this could come without worry, they were safe now). He realised his affection must be written all over his face as he saw it mirrored in his  ’s, who proceeded to nudge further into Francis’ space and place a slow open mouthed kiss to his lips, to which the other man was happy to oblige, moving his hand behind James’ neck and threading his fingers through his hair. For a while they stayed like that, kissing and making soft noises of comfort, but then Francis took it upon himself to explore. He began by trailing kisses from the corner of Fitzjames’ mouth to his jaw, mouthing behind his ear and continuing down his neck, fingers running down his back. James made a keening sound in the back of his throat as Francis mouthed at his collarbones and in answer Francis pushed his thigh between James’. This brush of skin caused Fitzjames’ hips to stutter and a low noise escape his lips. Before Crozier knew it he was on his back and it was James who was attacking him, hotly mouthing at neck and collarbones and proceeding to trail wet kisses across his chest, his hands roaming up and down his sides. When he reached a nipple it was Francis’ turn to make a noise and buck against his partner, the feeling of wet heat against sensitive skin becoming too much. He took the back of James’ head in his hand and guided him up, pressing their lips together and letting their tongues tangle in their mouths. It was then that their pace slowed, James extracting himself from the embrace and leaning back to sit on his haunches and appraise the man before him, his eyes full of warmth and also lust ‘Oh, you are wonderful’ he said, the fondness in his eyes coming through all too strongly in his voice. 

‘I can say the same of you’ Francis responded, running his hands from where they had come to rest on the other man’s hips to his chest, thumbs resting over his nipples and making small circles. James then lent down to trail his fingers along Francis’ length, causing Francis to turn his head into the pillow and let out a breathy moan ‘Why don’t we do something about this, hm?’ James prompted. Francis blindly reached down and tugged at James’ member, causing James to bend back down and let their lips touch again. He reached for Francis, matching the other man’s strokes as they swallowed each others noises in their kisses, stopping only to whisper endearments. As the two came closer to climax the pace quickened, James pulling away to mouth at Francis’ earlobe 

‘I want you to come inside me, Francis’ His voice was breathy and tinged with desperation ‘please’. He raised his head and they made eye contact, Francis throwing all his affection into that look 

‘It is you who holds all the experience here, not I’

‘Then let me show you’ James replied, kissing the other man softly. Preempting what was to come next, Crozier reached into the draw of his bedside table for his pot of petroleum jelly, one handedly opening the lid and slicking his fingers with the substance 

‘You know something, then’ James smiled into the kiss. 

‘let’s say I’m only familiar with my own workings, then’ 

With that, James took Francis’ hand and guided it between his legs, placing his fingers where Francis began to softly rub and touch, gently pushing in with one digit and massaging. When James’ writhing and bucking intensified Francis then added another, scissoring and crooking his fingers ever so slightly to graze upon the spot which he knew would get a particularly strong reaction. 

‘Please Francis’ James gasped at his collarbone after what felt like hours of Crozier’s gentle preparation. At that, Francis removed his fingers, tilting James’ head with his other hand and kissing him gently as he slid into the slick hole, causing them both to make noises of contentment as they began to rock slowly against each other 

‘You are so precious to me,’ Francis murmured between kisses ‘So unbelievably precious.’ He could feel the tension and heat building in his belly and looked up to where James was staring down at him 

‘I love you too, Francis’ he replied in earnest, his hair falling across his face. Francis reached up and tucked a loose strand behind his ear, bringing him back down to resume their kissing. When Francis felt himself coming close James pulled away, able to sense what was coming. 

‘I would like to see you, Francis.’ He lent down and pressed one more, painfully tender, kiss to Francis’s lips and it was that which pushed him off the edge, and he felt himself spilling. He did not have to wait long for James to follow, letting out a strangled cry and falling atop Francis’ chest and breathing heavily. They stayed like that for a while, joined in every way possible and basking in the afterglow, until James moved, sliding off Francis and curling against his side, resting his head on the other man’s chest. ‘Beautiful’ muttered Francis, pressing a soft kiss to to Fitzjames’ forehead and smiling. Fitzjames could only hum in approval, pressing closer and feeling sleep come and greet him.  

 

The two slept peacefully that night, curled around each other, limbs tangled. If Crozier felt himself wake briefly in the early hours, he only had to feel the tickle of Fitzjames’ hair on his nose to remember that the man he loved was safe and in his arms. 

 


	5. V- Epilogue

It was a warm spring evening when they stood in front of each other in their garden, the breeze ruffling James’ hair and making the lilac blooms behind them sway. They had eyes only for each other, regardless of the small group which had been filtering in from all corners since the previous afternoon, and each regarded the other with unguarded warmth. 

It had been Francis’ idea, this ceremony- a handfasting. He had heard of them as a boy, a practise passed down through grandmother’s tales and carried out by the more traditional members of the community; rare but not unheard of, much like them. He had voiced the idea in the middle of the night, inebriated by their lovemaking, and James had only kissed him, joining their hands and mouthing his approval into his skin.  _ Yes  _ he had breathed  _ yes yes yes.  _ The next day Francis had returned from the village with a simple length of navy blue ribbon which he placed wordlessly on the mantle before setting about making tea, and James had been unable to hide the smile from his face.

It had not been difficult to think of who to invite; the cottage they shared had become a refuge for their little band of orphans, and the bonds they shared were strong. Bridgens had been a clear choice to act as the priest. Although barely younger than Francis, he had a wisdom in him which could not easily be put to words, and the love he shared with Henry Peglar was evident of this. Jospon and Little were there too; Little with his hand on the small of the other man’s back, who was beaming with a rosy shine on his cheeks. Le Vesconte had made his way down, under James’ eager instruction and he looked immeasurably proud of his friend, standing as he was in the corner of the garden next to a seated Blanky, who was looking at Francis with a similar expression; the best men, if this had been a usual wedding. They looked so healthy now, all of them did, and this was a celebration of their survival as well as their future.

The words spoken were brief, addressing the hardships they had faced whilst also thanking them, for without those hardships they very bonds they were celebrating would not have been forged. When James had gripped Francis’ hand it had been shaking ever so slightly, and as Bridgens had twined the navy ribbon around them the tears that had been threatening to spill from their eyes had flown freely. Their vows had been simple, full of shaky breaths and nervous smiles (Later they would exchange them again, and this time their breaths would be shaking for an altogether different reason) and the rings they exchanged had been the same; simple silver bands they had bought from a discreet jeweller in Brighton. As Francis had pulled James in for a soft kiss there was not a dry eye in the house.

They had all come so far, from the frozen North to this warm cottage garden on the South Downs, and this was the perfect place to rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was at a party this afternoon and someone was playing with a ribbon and it gave me this idea! Handfasting is a traditional Celtic marriage-type ceremony, which you can find more about it here:   
> https://www.waterlilyweddings.com/2016/04/hand-fasting-a-celtic-tradition-for-your-irish-wedding-ceremony/  
> I loved how it might link to Francis' Irish roots, and the thought of him doing it with Fitz made my brain melt (The fact that John Lynch (Bridgens) will forever be seen as Balinor probably didn't help)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've written since 13 year old me wrote 11k of d*sti*l so bear with me if its terrible. The title comes from the song by the Psychedelic Furs, which is a brilliant song that I for some reason associate with these two and you should definitely give a listen. I have tried to stick loosely to historical accuracy, so forgive me if ive made any glaring errors.   
> (p.s my tumblr is singersargent if ya wanna chat)


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